


MCYT AU Oneshots

by lolitszz



Category: Dream Team - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Ice Skating, Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst, Dream SMP Lore, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team SMP Lore (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Multi, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:28:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolitszz/pseuds/lolitszz
Summary: Some one shots set in various AUs.... will include:- no crazy smut- fluff- probably angst (not rlly good at it)REQUESTS ARE OPEN! dm me @lolitszz on twitter or comment on the last chapter :]chapter by chapter guide:Chapter 1 - Dream Team Teacher AUChapter 2 - Sapnotfound Coffee Shop AUChapter 3 - Dreamnotfound Ice Sculpture AUChapter 4 - Karlnap Dream SMP - ANGSTChapter 5 - Tommy Prison AU - ANGSTChapter 6 - Puffy's Story: Dream SMP - ANGSTChapter 7 - Tommy and Wilbur: Dream SMP - DerealizationDISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE. THIS IS FICTIONAL WRITING, I DO NOT CONDONE SHIPPING OF REAL LIFE PEOPLE.Alright, enjoy, and be careful!;)-zz
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Toby Smith | Tubbo/TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	1. When We Were Young | Teacher AU ~ Dream Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi and welcome to MCYT AU Oneshots! Huzzah!
> 
> I'm zz, or just z (like zee), she/her
> 
> Take care when reading these!
> 
> This is a Teacher AU inspired by the wonderful @mervonis on the bird app! Go give their fanart some love :]
> 
> The Dream Team and friends work at Sollerial Mason-Pierre High School. They reminisce of their childhood not long ago. When had so many things changed?
> 
> It reminded Dream of when they were young, laughing in the sunlight and gossiping about teachers, wrapped in the blanket of security known as childhood, free of burdens and silent deadlines looming over their shoulders.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a brisk cold morning as Dream pushed open the squeaky double doors of the high school and walked in, the warmth from his steaming coffee cup seeping into his bare hand. The overly stuffy air of the school blew into his face as he made a beeline for the Teacher’s Lounge, his stomach growling eagerly for breakfast. 

As he walked down the winding hallway, he noticed the principal standing stiffly at the door of the front desk, already at his usual post to greet the flood of students who were an hour away from arriving. Dream nodded politely at the aforementioned man, who was known to have two personalities: polite, kind, and smiling, or sternly disciplining the students that went over the line. The personality he usually projected was of his usual self, Sam Nook. Sam seemingly searched for something in his waistcoat before pulling out a scanner. Dream offered a small smile as Sam beeped him in, authorizing him as the school’s notorious history teacher. The green-eyed man continued his journey, mind whirling about the day ahead.

Don't wheeze too much, he reminded himself.

Mr. Notfound was not having the time of his life, however. The man sat hunched over his desk, hurriedly clacking away at his keyboard, eyes rapt on the blinking monitor screen before him. He was the school’s most admired teacher; a rare handsome math teacher. Dream had, unnoticed by the busy man, paused by George’s ajar classroom door, calmly observing the teacher working. The soft sunlight from the classroom’s wide windows cast an angelic light on the math teacher; painting his chocolate hair a honey brown, softening the slight bags under the eyes and highlighting the stark cheekbones of the man. It reminded Dream of when they were young, laughing in the sunlight and gossiping about teachers, wrapped in the blanket of security known as childhood, free of burdens and silent deadlines looming over their shoulders. 

“Dream?” The history teacher was prodded out of his thoughts as George turned his attention on the man, work momentarily forgotten. “You need something?” 

There was that smirk and eyebrow lift that got Dream’s heart fluttering hopelessly. If Dream noticed it didn't quite reach George's eyes, he didn't comment. Dream stalked over to George’s desk and rested his head over the fluffy brown hair of the other’s. He could feel George relax slightly under the contact, and Dream loosely let his arms hang from the man’s jutting shoulders, drawing silent circles on the man's ivory skin. “What’re you working on, Georgie?” 

George whipped around at the nickname, eyes darting around the check the nearby surroundings, and hissed, not noticing how Dream took a step back, defensively. “I told you not to call me that. This is the workplace, Dream.” The soft, teasing man that was brought out just a few moments ago slowly built up the wall, brick by brick, as George realized his surroundings. 

Dream held his arms up in self defense, though a teasing smile still tugged at his lips. George always valued his public appearance, and any slip up could cause both teachers humiliation for days. The blonde man gently patted George on the shoulder, squinting at the text displayed on the computer. “Statistics, huh?” 

George rolled his eyes. “Yes, I needed to finish writing this test since I fell asleep trying to get it done yesterday.” 

Dream barks out a surprised laugh. “Ok, Mr. Sleepyhead. Anyway, I’m starving. You still have an hour, want to go get some bagels?” 

The math teacher scrunched up his nose cutely, and stared longingly at the screen for a minute. Fuck it, he thought, and rose, annoyingly swatting away an offered hand much to Dream’s delight. “But you know I only eat the slightly burnt toast here.” 

Dream’s wheeze could be heard echoing down the hallway as the pair strolled to the lounge.

\-----------------

Dream was sitting in the back of his classroom again. George didn’t know why he always did; it wasn’t like his rambling on logarithms was especially enticing. George resisted the urge to pause and look at the man, just to check if he was ok, and instructed his class to work on some problems as he meandered to where Dream was laid back. 

“Dream!” he frowned at the languid way Dream draped himself across the chair. “Sit up! And also, shouldn’t you be doing something better?” Don't scold him George, you know he doesn't have much time left.

Dream obliged somewhat, straightening his position. He looked up at George, smirking. “Ok, mom. No. I sped- I speedran through all my work.” He finished with a wheeze. George gritted his teeth as a few students turned to look at the commotion, though he was more worried about what came after the wheezes. 

“Class, if you are done with these exercises, please continue on to your homework.” George announced from the back of the classroom, which diverted most of the students’ gazes. Though as he turned his back once again on the class, determined in chasing Dream out of his classroom, he felt someone’s burning gaze searing a hole into his back. George let out an inaudible sigh, eyes sweeping over the class before landing on the student.

“Yes, Thomas?” The teacher barely kept the exasperation out of his voice. Out of all the students he’d teached, Thomas Innit was probably the most unbearable. It wasn’t that the child was immature; no, George had seen him very maturely dealt with emotions and other situations. Thomas was rather, outspoken, and projected his brash personality publicly in a way George would’ve blanched at. 

“Hey, big man, George! I was just wondering, is it ok if I get dismissed early? I’ll do the homework later since I really need to go to this great football game I’m watching with my friend. You know him right? Big ol’ Tubbo? Big T? Tubster? Tub-”  
George cut him off as Dream let out a silent wheeze behind him. The math teacher somehow found an exposed wrist and pinched it, hard. “No, Thomas. And I’ve said before please treat your teachers with respect and call me Mr. Notfound. If I gave you the permission to leave early just to talk to your friend or watch a game, don’t you think that that privilege would be entitled to all students?” 

Tommy, dejected, muttered something similar to “But Wilbur always lets me out,” under his breath and returned to scribbling out an exercise problem. 

George sighed, but content that Thomas wouldn’t disturb him for the rest of the remaining class. Dream looked up at him, and George could already feel the lecture before it hit. “You know, George, you can afford to be a little more lenient to your students.” 

George pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, trying his best to not let his emotions get the better of him. “This is Tommy we’re talking about, Dream. If he gets let out early just for some dumb football game, then wouldn’t the other students also be entitled to as well? I can’t go out letting students leave early, I’ll lose my job!” 

Dream grumbled affirmative when the bell rang. 

“Students, you may now be dismissed. If you have any questions, feel free to email me or stay after class.” 

After answering each question a student asked meticulously, he set about tidying up his classroom, hand anxiously raking through his ragged hair, making it stick up almost comically. Dream stretched, almost cat-like, from his seat by the window. He stood by George, mentally noting at the height differences between the two, before leaning exhaustively on the man’s shoulder. 

George let out a protest, sputtering. “Dream! You’re so- heavy! What if other students see?” 

Dream would not budge. “Let the students see. The rumors are true anyway.”

George scoffed and sat in a desk while Dream pulled up a chair and plopped next to him, once again giving his weight to George. Dream closed his eyes as he listened to the math teacher slowly start to fill the silence. George’s dark brown eyes twinkled with light reflected from the early afternoon sky, a sight Dream rarely saw these days, the happy shouts and chattering of students floating up through the crack of the window. 

“Remember that time we got in trouble for trying to duel in the playground?” George started, laughing softly as he played with the golden strands of his counterpart’s hair, strain hovering on the edge of his words. “We were so naive.. and you insisted on sparring me and Sapnap. Oh, speak of the devil.” 

Sapnap, or Coach Sapnap, as the students called him, strode into the room, his raven hair flopped over the white bandana he always wore. His gaze landed on the two teachers, cuddled up and soaking in the sun. He felt a chord of nostalgia strike him as he grinned, pushing the ache into the back of his mind. “Hey Georgie, Dream. You guys cuddling without me? No fair.” 

As he was about to sit on a nearby chair, George childishly laid on top of his seat. Sapnap raised a slitted eyebrow in challenge. “Oh you wanna go, George? My fatass will sit on you and you wouldn’t even know what’s coming. Now get off of my seat.” The last sentence was punctuated by a crazed tickle attack as the math teacher let out an uncharacteristic screech at the action.

“Alright! Alright, stop! STOP!” George gasped out, as Dream turned and started tickling him as well. Surrounded by both sides, George twisted and turned, giggles floating up and brightening the dimly lit classroom. The brunette finally broke away from the attackers, clutching at his sides as he choked out his last few laughs. 

Dream and Sapnap grinned toothily at each other, and it reminded George painstakingly of the old days. 

“Hehe Georgie-poo! We know your weakness..” Sapnap's taunting voice bubbled from the depths of his memories. He dragged himself out of his thoughts as he heard Dream’s wheeze turn into hacking coughs that racked his whole body.

George rushed to his side to hurriedly get him a napkin and pressed it to Dream’s mouth, watching sullenly, joy forgotten, as drops of blood bloomed like red roses on the pearl white napkin and the tall man bent over, pain clotting his vision. Sapnap looked on, diverting his gaze from the venomous flower slowly seeping through the napkin.

Their childhood seemed so far away, when Dream’s laugh could be free and unaccompanied by sudden bouts, where George’s smile reached his eyes. When Sapnap aspired to be a doctor.

Everyone’s childhood is filled with blissful ignorance, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1776 words :]
> 
> First time writing angst! Hopefully you liked this short story, haha.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, feel free to leave kudos!
> 
> If you have any requests, lemme know in the comments below or by dming me on the bird app- @lolitszz
> 
> See ya next time!


	2. Coffee Shop - Sapnotfound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap will feel safe again. He will no longer flinch involuntarily at a stranger’s touch. George will make sure of that. 
> 
> Because he doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself knowing that Sapnap’s out there, hurting.
> 
> ~some fluff and angsty snf~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// abuse, mentions of injuries, blood 
> 
> !!do not feel obliged read if any of these topics trigger you!!

The coffee shop was a hidden for those who found it. It was close to 2:00am, not that George minded much. He was grateful for the presence near him, the fondness and concern for his friend etched its mark into his face. But as the soft, glowing light of the coffee shop enveloped its arms around the pair, the shadows were cast away; the light washed onto their weary and pained expressions, with it it took away the wrinkles, the creases, the throbbing of the heart, puffiness of the eyes. It was almost as if the two men transported back 10 years, back to fields of dandelions, where one could laugh maniacally without a care in the world. Where simple sentences held simple meanings and hands didn't tremble upon the mention of a topic. The silence was like a blanket, the background noise of slow-churning blenders and the whirs of coffee machines blending in blissfully with the aromatic atmosphere. One word bubbled up from the abyss of George's reckless train of thoughts.

_Safety_.

Sapnap snuggled closer to his friend, the warmth of the coffee shop soothing his grief and waves of nausea as he recalled the day’s events. The older boy placed a comforting hand on his hair, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. George had been shocked to see such horrid emotions contort Sapnap’s beautiful face. The raven-haired boy had collapsed in his friend’s embrace after being discharged, sobs racking his whole body as the scent of coffee and cream washed over the two. He’d tended Sapnap's injuries, most of which cut deeper than any deep cut to the flesh.

George knew that Sapnap’s girlfriend was overactive and short-tempered, but never realized the full extent of the emotional torture she dished to his friend.

He had gritted his teeth as he cleaned Sapnap’s face, the other boy’s confident glint a faded star in his honey brown eyes. _I’m going to pay for what this woman did to my Sapnap_. For as long as he remembered, the shine and brightness of Sapnap’s eyes, the way his lips quirked up in a smirk and his countless flirtatious bantering had been the light of George’s life. Now, looking around him with a freshened mind, he recounted how Sapnap had glossed over the move-in with his girlfriend, a faraway distant look in his eyes. Why hadn’t he stopped him then? Why hadn’t he noticed??

Sapnap felt George tensing up near him, and looked up at the older man, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. A soft, but oh so very sad smile.

“It’s,” he started hoarsely before clearing his throat. “It’s not your fault, Georgie. I should’ve known her… tendencies ...from the start.”

George sighed, but still resolving to teach the girl a lesson. “It’s none of our faults. You never deserved that bitch and it’s better to come to a conclusion now then never.”

Sapnap grinned up at the boy, a striking image to his youth. “It’s just us now, Georgie-wogie.”

George rolled his eyes on instinct, but really, he felt something within him relax, and he was almost relieved to see Sapnap be devoid of pain, even if it was short-lived.

He played with the curls of the other’s hair. “Go to sleep. I’ll always be here.” He didn't have to hear the gratitude that swam in Sapnap's eyes. He'd do everything for his best friend, and they both knew one half could not survive without the other.

And Sapnap did. His breathing slowed, his facial expression relaxing and slowly became serene- almost. But as George shifted to make the other boy comfortable, he knew it would be a long night. Sometimes it was just him and his echoing thoughts, questioning no one and expecting no answer. Sometimes it was ok. But as he closed his eyes tonight, he couldn't help but think back to when it happened. 

_Sapnap, on a stretcher. His face bruised, unrecognizable, barely conscious. That woman was being escorted to a police car in the background. George. Frozen, unable to move, shell-shocked, yet fury coursed his veins. He remembered vaguely calling 911, hands shaking yet eyes glinting like hard steel, hugging Sapnap close as he screamed at the girl to get the fuck away from his friend. That girl… she was crazy. But of course, no master manipulator would reveal their true face, right? Fury still courses through his veins. Even three years after, sometimes he still hears Sapnap mumbling in his sleep, fighting off wardens of evil, succumbing to five short yet painstakingly long months of lies and terrible, terrible actions. George would help Sapnap heal. It was his birthday tomorrow. George silently clenched his fists and set his jaw, determined. One day, Sapnap will feel safe again. He will no longer flinch involuntarily at a stranger’s touch. George will make sure of that._

Because he doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself knowing that Sapnap’s out there, hurting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo! im back :D
> 
> thanks for reading! post any feedback in the comments... and according to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. if ya enjoyed this chapter, consider leavin kudos and a comment. it's free :)
> 
> til next time!
> 
> -zz


	3. The Ice Sculpture - Dreamnotfound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spin-off on Piece of Clay by carbonbrine on wattpad <3...  
> \- except the roles are reversed and it's a little different!
> 
> He was almost transported back to the rink as he opened the double doors. There, standing next to Sapnap, was an average height man, cheeks flushed from the harsh winter breeze and eyes beaming as the skater beamed up at the sculpture. Dream’s heart stuttered weirdly.
> 
> “Hi. I’m George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit long!! I was trying out a blend between ice skating au and an au where Dream is an ice sculpturer! Sapnap can be the matchmaker, but though I didn't put it in, he's a glass maker, so very close to fire and ovens :)
> 
> Have fun reading!

Dream wiped the sweat off his brow, in a t-shirt and jeans despite the chilled icy room, his breath coming out in puffs, that kept his work alive. He studied the man he’d made; cheeks glistening in the dim lit room, slim arms outstretched in a beautiful dancing pose. Frozen in time, literally. Just like how he remembered. 

He’d been down in his workshop for the past 30 hours, slowly chipping away at a stubborn block of ice, what he called his work, his art. His life. His roommate, Sapnap, would periodically bring him food, a cold turkey sandwich here, some wedges of pieces there. Sapnap was never a cold temperature person; the man yielded from Texas, after all. 

Dream once again focused his gaze onto the sculpture in front of him. Through the past week of working away at the project, the icy “man” had grown on him. His face still flushed whenever he thought of the guy who he’d based the project on. Sapnap scoffed at the idea; it was typical for Dream to get attached to things; his projects were no different. But after a month of admiring the sculpture, it’d just be sold or displayed on a show, never to be seen again.

But this sculpture felt different; it was different. He had finished most of the project; though the face remained anonymous and the details not yet present as Dream tried to conjure up more from his memory. Dream paused as he took a swig of water, and suddenly heard a creak. 

He whipped around, heart pounding in his ears. He remembered the last time someone had snuck into the warehouse, and a vision of beheaded sculptures and broken pieces of ice scattered across the ground flitted through his mind. He anxiously whipped his head around to the sculpture, still unfinished, which he had put his blood, sweat and tears into. Kind of. 

A small, timid mew. Dream visibly relaxed. His cat, Patches, scrolled into the icy workshop, fur clearly fluffed to insulate her small body against the sudden chill. 

Dream scooped up the small cat into his arms and sighed. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” 

He hurriedly checked the warehouse door, and gave the knob a twist just to confirm once again that it was locked. Patches struggled out of his arms, and padded towards the sculpture. To Dream’s surprise and delight, she started purring and rubbing against the sculpture’s legs, taking no care in the icy skates that accompanied the slim-legged “man”. 

Dream recovered from his shock and set Patches down in her bed, smoothing out her cold fur. “You’re gonna catch a cold! Don’t do that, ok?” 

He stared into her unblinking hazel eyes, mesmerized by the cat’s adorableness. After a minute of silent communication, he turned back to his work, and started working on the face. 

After hours of scrutinizing over every detail, the facial features of the “man” were complete. Dream had to make the face look like the original man; this is what made this one stand out. He stepped back and absentmindedly traced his hand over his own features. Satisfied, he started detailing. 

Detailing was the worst. Not only did the bones in Dream’s sore back protest immediately as he bent down, he had to use a flashlight and glasses to make sure each detail didn’t go into the wrong place. Once he’d chiseled out the holes in each intricate ice skate, he started on the swirls of the shoe itself, filing through his remaining braincells to hold onto the precious moment. 

* * *

_“Dream! We should go ice skating sometime. It’d be fun!” Sapnap burst into his room, the shutters not yet open, sunlight streaming through the gaps between the curtains. Dream groaned as he pulled his blankets further up his face._

_“Sleep. Go away.” he mumbled, tired voice muffled by the covers he death gripped. Suddenly, they were offensively yanked away from him._

_“Dude!” he yelped, only to be greeted with Sapnap’s wild and somewhat feral grin._

_“A break from work! You look like an old man dying when you stoop over to chisel your little sculptures. Take a break for once, man.” Sapnap patted his back amicably, which made Dream wince._

_His roommate almost howled as he laughed. “Jeez! Ice skating’ll relieve the tension, I’m sure.”_

_With much annoyance, Dream dragged his aching body out of bed, various bones popping._

_Sapnap sighed, but the amused glint shone in his eyes. Dream swatted him away as he prepared for another long day._ Oh well, _he thought._ Maybe I do need a break _._

_They arrived at the ice rink way too early, in Dream’s opinion. The whole rink was deserted, and Dream was not looking forward to embarrassing himself as families and children streamed in. Sapnap must’ve read his friend’s mind as the other grumbled. “Come on, you won’t embarrass yourself. No one’s gonna judge you.”_

_Dream sighed as he tied the strings of his skate. He was about to step onto the rink when his breath hitched. Sapnap followed his gaze, and his eyes widened._

_In the middle of the rink, with the sunlight in his hair, painting him almost angelic-like, stood a lone skater. He made almost no sound as he twirled and danced on the ice rink with seamless fluidity, landing every jump and perfecting each spin._

_The calm expression on his face mesmerized Dream, from the way he closed his eyes, a soft smile hovering on his lips, to how freely he moved, skating to an invisible rhythm, so unlike how the strings attached to Dream dragged him down like a weight. The man almost forgot to breath as the skater caught his eye and_ winked _._

_“Woah!” Sapnap suddenly squeaked as Dream brashly dragged his roommate by the arm, out of the public ice rink, and back to their shared house, the man’s face a beetroot red._

_“What about ice skating?” Sapnap huffed out, breathing heavily from trying to catch up to Dream’s hurried sprint. Sapnap’d never seen the man run so fast._

_Dream shook his head. “That can come later,” and locked himself in his warehouse. Sapnap grumbled helplessly as he shook his head and set off to the ice rink again._

* * *

Dream grunted as he slowly and precariously lifted his finished project onto the pedestal. This was a personal project, one he didn’t have the heart to ship out to a collector or exhibit. It was for his eyes and his eyes only.

Unbeknownst to Dream, Sapnap had devised a plan. He had visited the ice rink day after day, each time arriving earlier in the morning. Luck was in his favor, he’d met the guy that got Dream flustered multiple times now. Sapnap got to know the man more, his name was George, he professionally skated, he was colorblind, and arguably taller than Sapnap. 

Sapnap could tell why George made Dream go tomato-red, the way he smiled and expressed himself was enough to swoon nearby baristas and customers of the cafe they usually chatted in. After slowly getting to befriend George, he proposed his plan to the skater. 

“Hey George! I need to tell you something.” Sapnap hollered into the empty rink, and George stopped, mid-skate as he turned to the source of the voice. 

“Snapmap! Fancy seeing you here. What is it?” George said teasingly, as Sapnap rolled his eyes. 

“Call me Snapmap again and we’ll have issues.” 

There was that eyebrow raise. “Oh, really?” 

Another eye roll. “Ok, let’s get into business-” 

“Never took you as a _business_ person,” George scoffed, earning a playful smack on the arm from Sapnap. The skater giggled as Sapnap continued. 

“You know my friend, Dream right? The ice sculptures?” George nodded. “Well, he’s been um, designing a sculpture after you, apparently, and I’m planning to force kidnap you and shove you into his warehouse.” 

George snorted. “Ok, just blindfold me and gag me already.”

Sapnap huffed and mussed George’s hair, much to the other’s annoyance. “Just follow me, _Gogy_.” 

George made a disapproving grunt at the nickname, but followed the younger man, skating bag strung across his shoulder.

  
  


Dream almost jumped out of his skin as he heard a knock at his warehouse. He had almost finished flaming the outside of the sculpture, turning the elegant skater into a shining masterpiece as the ice cleared and became translucent. 

“Let us in!” Sapnap yelled, voice muted from the outside. Dream cocked his head curiously as he strolled to the door, hearing another, softer voice sound from outside. 

He was almost transported back to the rink as he opened the double doors. There, standing next to Sapnap, was an average height man, honey-brown hair swept from the wind and eyes beaming as the skater smiled up at the sculpture. Dream’s heart stuttered weirdly as he stared back, utterly frozen.

“Hi. I’m George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1473 words
> 
> Whew! Hehe you guys can prolly figure out what comes next. Anyway, this was some nice fluff and a little short story, albeit a little long.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, feel free to leave some kudos and/or comments! Feedback in the comments are also always welcome :)
> 
> see ya!
> 
> -zz


	4. Wash Me Away - Karlnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the Dream SMP, we see Time Traveler Karl and many others in Sapnap's pov.
> 
> ***LOTS OF ANGST***
> 
> tw// implied character death, graphic depiction of violence, triggering thoughts and mentions of blood
> 
> !!do not feel obligated to read if any of these topics trigger you!!
> 
> Karl intertwined their hands. He leaned into the touch, craving more, more time, time that was slipping like sand, out of his grasp, beyond his control. A suppressed thought. A bright, forced smile. A carefree laugh. Maybe it was make-believe. Maybe it was genuine.
> 
> We'll never know now, though, will we?

_Drip_. A spare droplet falls into the ocean of soapy, translucent water, soon lost among the thousands of scattered ones contained in the liquid.

_Drop_. The tentative silence between each sound is almost hopeful as light streaks the water a golden hue and blinds the man sitting in it, head bowed, sloppy, dripping hair covering the tear-streaked cheeks, the water licking at the ashes of a dying flame.

_Sapnap! Look over here! We’re going to build the best kingdom ever._

_He shook his head, amusement settling onto his lips. And what do you plan to do with this nation?_

_Oh, you chucklehead, don’t worry about that now. Come, help me build a library. I need somewhere to sort my books._

There were hundreds of them. He always wondered where they came from, how each one had neat yet cryptic language spilling over the pages, dog-eared and wrinkled over presumably, hours, of use.

_What do you need these all for, anyway?_

_Karl just grinned, a mysterious yet bright thing, like the sun had descended and made a special appearance just to him, and him only. I don’t know, what_ are _they for?_

_Always those dodges and teases, but he never pressed for more. What did he know anyways?_

He would hide away in his workshop, sometimes just to sort things as a chore, a few minutes and he was out. Other times, steamed bread rolls became brittle and cold, dust speckles settled softly on the edge of a water glass, and eyebags settled onto the faces of friends.

_Karl? You there? He shouted, concern lacing his tone, his gaze darting to the freshly cooked baked potato._

_Food always lured out the isolated._

_A creak. A gasp, an embrace._

_A fleeting excuse of what went on. The urge to press for more. The urge to tell the truth. But no urge ever surfaced, no urge was voiced. They’d lock hands, feed each other. Smile and pretend no one was hurting._

Only when that was all they were doing.

_Giggles floated up into the merciful blue sky, birds tweeted happily as time flew by._

_Wait, let’s do that one more time! Karl intertwined their hands._

_He leaned into the touch, craving more, more time, time that was slipping like sand, out of his grasp, beyond his control._

_A suppressed thought. A bright, forced smile. Of course, anything for you, my dear._

_A carefree laugh. Maybe it was make-believe. Maybe it was genuine._

_We’ll never know now, will we?_

God, they were so stupid. Chortling over dying squid, scaring the shit out of their friends, even something as placid as fishing together.

That was their mistake. Acting like they had all the time in the world.

But time never stops for anyone. Some run out of time. Others have it cut short.

_Just say you hate me! A sob, a disgusted scream. It tore at heartstrings, ripped friendships apart._

_He’d felt so much hate on that day. Hate for a former brother, a friend he never knew life without, someone who he loved._

Why were they all slipping away from him?

_He put on a mask, a hardened exterior so no one could penetrate the softness underneath. Guided his heartbroken friend to a newer light, perhaps a sunnier future. Comforted him, watched him fall into deep sleep._

Only for himself to break down afterwards.

_Karl provided solace. When George became an empty shell, blank eyes staring into nothing, heart barely beating, Karl was there to help him. To remind him to breathe after uncountable attacks, gruesome nightmares that plagued day and night._

Why was he destined to go down this path?

_Where did it all go wrong?_

_Sapnap, here. A squeaky, puberty-prone voice. A smiley mask, accompanied by soft, spring-green eyes, tinted with hazel. An encouraging smile, a helping hand to lift him up when he fell down._

_Dream? What is this? A cloud-white bandana. He could feel the sweat sticking everywhere, they were only racing to and from the village, but who knew the summer heat had intensified?_

_Dream wheezed. He took that noise for granted._

How many things had he taken for granted?

_It’s to push your hair back! You tripped halfay through the race, stupid! A friendly push, laughter tinkering like bells in the boiling air._

_He grinned, wrapped the surprisingly chilled cloth around his raven hair._

It was growing pretty long, wasn’t it?

_How do I look? He had grinned, showed off his new accessory._

_A thumbs and a smile, teasing insults and joke-filled jabs.  
  
_

_Ignorance is bliss, right?_

It lays, cloth torn from years of wear and tear. People say you can see history through a single object. Blood stains that were too dark to fully rinse out. Scuff marks, grass smudges, telltale signs of a clumsy fall, or a territorial squabble. Or maybe it tells of wars, too many wars, too much bloodshed, too many lives lost in something not even worth fighting for.

They all blur together.

He looks at his calloused hands, droplets of water flowing down the patterns of veins and scars that litter the skin.

When did they shake so much?

_He held up his shining axe, bandaged hands gripping the handle, blinding to someone who lived a calm, rural life away from violence. The animal looked terrified, trapped in a corner with no escape. Its fur was damp with blood, and it hissed despite the open fear it displayed. One more act to keep up the bravery. A chance to intimidate._

_After all, it was just trying to survive._

_Blood splattered everywhere. There were no emotions in his eyes. Maybe he was tired. Some coined him as vicious, slaughtering animals as a way of revenge. Maybe others understood him._

_The fox lay, unmoving. The redness seeped into his boots, coloring the metal a dark, sinister hue. Unsettling, some might say. Horrifying, even. To him, this was everyday work._

_The owner would be devastated. He would numbly hold his precious fox to his body, cradling it like a mother to a dead child. Bury it, give it a headstone, maybe even visit the grave from time to time._

Another freshly carved wound of grief to stab into his heart.

_Sapnap. Why are you always so violent? His friend would ask, goggles pushed up in his head, his eyes trained on the horizon but attention settling on the man next to him._

_George always did that. Though his gaze may be somewhere else, he was hyper aware of you. Observant of your every move, action; he could read people like a book._

_He returned to cleaning his newly stained axe. I’m not. It was by accident, and you know usually I do it for a reason._

Does he though? Maybe he does it to fill in the pit in his own heart.

He had abandoned his violent ways. How could he be so violent, when happiness beamed it’s rays onto the lands? Growing businesses, hotels, wide grins, and floral welcoming humourous parties and feasts decorated every corner. He sunk lower into the bath. Those who grieved never openly tell. They smile and tell you it’s fine, and no one is rude or kind enough to press for more. 

At least, that’s what he thinks.

_But what are nations built on, if not grief and lost, and the carcasses of so many fallen ones?_

_A musician, known far and wide for his angelic voice and soft chords, fallen into the hands of politics, empty promises and totalitarian control._

_A teenage boy, many years ahead of him, betrayed by a close friend, manipulated by an even closer enemy._

_A rightful king, cast away when he chose a side, recaptured his throne to become a puppet._

How can trust exist, in a broken world such as this one?

  
  


_Curiosity got the better of him that one day._

_Karl had trapped himself in his workshop for over a week, and he was antsy to do something, anything._

_He had visited his bedridden friend, a ghost of his former self, unable to form coherent sentences._

_He didn’t want to look as George’s unconscious body thrashed and jerked as a nightmare infected his friend yet again._

_He’d give anything to see a sign of animation from George. The man barely ate, and he looked to be at death’s doorstep with the tubes and wires hooked up to him. The constant beeping of a monitor was the only sign he was alive._

_A broken-down automation. A former husk of what used to be._

He had to hurry out the room, a sob swallowed as to not wake up his friend. 

_Is this what grief does to people?_

So he went to the library, the sunlight streaming in from the windows, setting his shirt ablaze and basking his grief in warmth. He allowed a sad smile to grace his lips.

He had poured over the books, his childish hunger for knowledge resurfacing after years of negligence. He skimmed diagrams, researched what he can, and read, read, and read.

The books and research gave him no leads. He wasn’t going to get closer to what secrets Karl kept if he didn’t venture into the man’s place himself.

_His Adam’s apple bobbed. He felt invading, an outsider observing a phenomenon. He treaded carefully into the workshop, where stacks and stacks of paper were neatly piled, though maps, books, and scrolls were tacked hastily on the wall and strewn carelessly over the floor._

Almost like someone was in a rush.

_The place looked almost abandoned, if not for the man himself strewn over an armchair, looking sound asleep._

_Karl! He rushed over, looking to embrace his lover._

He memorized the softened glow of his man as Karl stirred.

_Karl, he called again. His boyfriend looked around confused, squinted at him a bit._

_Where am I? He mumbled._

At the time, Sapnap blamed it on drowsiness.

_Your workshop, silly! It’s not like you forgot where you were! C’mon, wake up._

_He was staring at Karl's face the whole time, but his playful grin faltered as he took in Karl’s clothing._

_Karl? Where is your purple hoodie? Karl?_

_Karl ignored the increasingly desperate man in front of him, instead mumbling over and over again, Who am I? Where am I?_

_It took some time, but finally, Karl took notice of Sapnap, who felt close to breaking. Who are you?_

A stray tear worked its way down to his chin, perfectly camouflaging itself with the stray water droplets lining his jaw. 

He let his hand fall back down into the bathwater. Numb. He felt so numb.

  
  


_Sapnap was shaking Karl’s shoulders, panicking. It’s me, Karl! Your boyfriend Sapnap! It’s me!_

_Karl failed to recognize the face, and opted to look at his surroundings. He was still sleepy, yes, that was it. There was no other explanation, right?_

_Suddenly, a choked sob cracked the silence. Sapnap looked up from his hurried pacing to see Karl bent over, hand on his mouth, stiffly staring at an opened, worn leather book. One of the pages had slipped out._

Don’t forget who you are.

_As soon as Sapnap had looked over, the sun suddenly shafted into the room. It momentarily blinded him, the light overtaking his senses as his stomach pooled with dread._

It was too late. He was already gone.

_No matter how much Sapnap clung to the wrinkled fabric of the colorless hoodie, no matter how much the fabric soaked up the overflowing tears, he was lost._

He’d lost himself to time, trying to help others while whittling away at himself.

_There was nobody to comfort him. He clung onto every memory, the warmth of his smile, his dimple grooves apparent in a well-lit room. His floppy and fluffy hair, his maniacal giggles and overused jokes._

If Sapnap cried himself to sleep, nobody was there to hear it. 

Maybe he would’ve visited Karl’s grave if he was a different man.

_If I wasn’t so goddamn weak._

He looked at his watery reflection, a once youthful, hopeful face turned downwards by bitterness, hatred, and the numbing sensation that comes after a loss. Maybe he was becoming George after all.

_But what did he have left, in this cruel, cruel world?_

Maybe he’d say a final goodbye. Bid a farewell to the fatherly figure who choked beneath red vines and whispered voices, a brother who was permanently shackled to an obsidian floor, hands burnt and scabbed from punching the rock and pushing through inescapable lava.

Maybe he’d finally rid George of his misery, and finally let his friend rest.

_Maybe it’s time I rest._

He went under the water, and succumbed to the darkness as he floated, up, up, a balloon untethered, something finally free of the burdens of this world.

Will he remember his past self in his next chance at life?

Well, we’ll have to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2146 words :]
> 
> if i made you cry, im sorry ahahaha.... dream smp!sapnap just has so much potential for angst ;) i couldnt resist
> 
> anyway, if you liked this chapter, or have any suggestions or requests (no smut pls) for the next oneshots, lmk in the comments!
> 
> leave a kudos! <3 love yall
> 
> -zz


	5. Your Tommy - Dream SMP Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommyinnit has been sent to prison for burning down the King's summer home. By his best friend.
> 
> Who would've thought?
> 
> This story weaves between different character perspectives, and it's in an alternate universe where Tommy gets imprisoned for burning down George's house rather than exiled.
> 
> !!ANGST!! 
> 
> tw// suicidal thoughts, major character death, flashbacks, grief
> 
> **do not feel obligated to read this chapter if any of these topics trigger you**
> 
> enjoy :)

_ He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!  _

_ It was way too hot. _

_ TOO HOT! _

Tommy jolted awake, bloodied and bruised knuckles scraping painfully against the rough obsidian floor, and hissed on contact.

His eyes ached from constantly staring into the blinding red glare of the lava. 

“It’s way too  _ fucking _ hot!” Tommy shouted into the expanse of his room, to no one in particular, noise slowly absorbed into the walls. 

He felt like hitting something. It was something about the sharp pain that came afterwards; a reminder he was still alive, still burdened with this fucked up life.

He didn’t realize he’d been crying until he saw his wet cheeks reflected off the annoyingly clean clock dangling from the wall. He rubbed his face viciously on the back of his hand.  _ Pathetic _ , he thought.

_ “You’re so pathetic! You practically caused treason for our nation for some stupid ‘prank’! Now I understand why Wilbur never wanted you president; you wouldn’t’ve been able to handle the responsibility!” Tubbo all but practically screamed.  _

_ Tommy wanted to block out the jarring sound, cover his ears and run far, far away. Far away from the turbulent waves of emotion crashing inside of him. _

_ “I’m sorry you never fucking  _ trusted _ me! And I never fucking set fire to George’s house! You think you’re so high and mighty, being the president and all, but Tubbo, Tubbo, he’s  _ manipulating _ you! I’m always in the right; you know this!”  _

_ A knot of dread twisted itself into his stomach as he saw something shift in Tubbo, a steel-hard, cold glint tinting his eyes a lifeless blue. _

_ “Manipulating me? Why do you think I was chosen president? I put this damned nation in front of everyone, Tommy. Don’t tell me how to do my job. You know more than anyone here the responsibility it comes with upholding a nation. And I’m not going to let  _ you _ tarnish  _ my _ nation.” _

_ Tommy took a step back, sneakers rubbing against the midnight colored stone. His hands trembled; yet he squeezed them, willing them to stop.  _

_ Maybe he needed to rearrange his alliances. _

Tommy squeezed his eyes close, the permanent scene imprinted in his mind. Maybe the old him would’ve called it too fucking good of a day to not go out, but he knew now that the sun was a little too bright, too optimistic, to result in a “good day”.

He could see it now; Tubbo, strangely tense, walking straight up to the netherite-clad man. How Dream had stared his best friend (was Tubbo even his best friend?) down, condescendingly so, as if a child was here to make a comical argument before throwing a tantrum.

It filled Tommy with so much hate. 

The cold clinking of metal handcuffs, rigid glares and shocked gazes burning holes into his shirt. 

_ “I thought you were always with me, Tubbo. I really trusted you, huh? Guess I need to reevaluate my qualifications for a friend.” _

Tubbo had just stared on, jaw set. Maybe the look in his eyes was regretful. Tommy sure hoped so. But any last hope for his old friend crumbled as Tubbo nodded and shook hands with Dream, sealing a deal with the devil. 

_ “Take him to where he belongs.” _

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. They say, no pain no gain, right? 

“What a load of bullshit!” Tommy exploded, slamming his bruised fist into the wall. The satisfaction was short-lived as the pain flooded his sensors. The clock silently ticked. 

_ How much time left in this hellhole?  _

_ How much time until I go insane?! _

_ How much time until I finally am done? _

\------------------------------------------

  
  


Tubbo was not looking forward to this. Maybe he was nervous, maybe apprehensive, or just worried if his friend was still alive. 

_ Would he even want to be my friend anymore? _

Tubbo wrung his hands nervously as he approached the looming building. Its presence was enough to scare away most living organisms in the vicinity. 

Pandora’s Vault was a tricky thing. Everyone recognized the telltale ink-black turrets from the distance, but it was basically unknown what happened in the interiors of the inescapable walls. 

But everyone knew Warden Sam was scary. He was serious, and no emotion had flitted across his face when Tommy was pushed in front of the guardian. The monotone voice he carried echoed through the enormous interior, bouncing off ornate black walls. Tubbo could almost hear the silent screams swimming in Tommy's eyes that day.

First, the questions, then came the legal documents.

Tubbo grimly stashed his valuables in the locker and subjected himself to many examinations.

He knew that the prison procedure was grim, but it broke his heart to see such extreme safety measures be put on someone who used to bee-watch with him, laugh at his silly jokes and listen to his deepest, darkest secrets.

Was it really this necessary?

The gradual pounding of his heart grounded these thoughts to a stop. 

“Wait here. The lava column will drain, and there will be a bridge. You will have to move in time with the bridge; otherwise you will fall and burn to your death.”

Tubbo automatically nodded, not brave enough to give the verbal confirmation. Suddenly, he felt a strong hand being placed on his shoulder. 

A warm smile broke through an otherwise serious, clouded expression. Tubbo took in a deep breath to steady himself, silently thanking Sam for the reassurance.

The lava started to drain.

Tubbo almost choked. Was this his friend?

_ What did I do to him? _

  
  


His former best friend looked so gaunt, like the prison walls had seeped the life out of his eyes. He wanted to hug him, to be there for him, see the light shining in his eyes and turn to him for a funny joke, a passing laugh.

_ Like the olden days. _

His gaze was almost glued to the reappearing wall of lava, he wouldn’t- no, couldn’t -bring himself to look at his actions.

_ My fault. _

His stomach twisted in dread as he heard the netherite barrier lower.

Tubbo reluctantly turned around. He wanted to run away; the walls were too close, too suffocating, the room was too hot.

But he grounded himself. He took in his friend. Tommy looked at Death’s doorstep. His cheekbones jutted out too much, his bony figure desperately clinging on to the ragged garments of his jail suit. His eyes were glassy, hollow, devoid of any emotion or the spark that used to crackle around him.

As Tubbo tried to advance towards him, Tommy flinched away, as if he had been hit, or was going to be hit. Tubbo grinded his jaw to keep the tears from spilling out.

_ What had he done? _

  
  


\------------------------------------------

  
  


The rain had started to fall on the house, it’s sloppy, wet drops turning the coarse dirt slowly into mud. It mucked up the floor and dripped off the ceiling.

It almost looked like the house was mourning.

_ Mourning for it’s owner _ , Ranboo thought bitterly. He squeezed his eyes shut, hand gripped so tight around a purple flower the stem broke in half.

  
  


_ The half-enderman heard peals of laughter behind him. A boy- who seemed to be around his age -walked up to him, confidence and stubbornness to his stride. On his face sat a shit-eating grin, the one you’d always find. The blond stared up at him, suspicious, but curiously so.  _

_ Ranboo had looked around. Spotted an allium in his periphery. He plucked out the stem, it barely resisted, and threw it at Tommy. _

_ “Oof!” Tommy had said, surprised. “You trynna kill me with a flower or something?”  _

_ A held in laugh. Too sunny, too cheery for a crumbled world. _

_ Ranboo had scratched his head awkwardly, mumbling an apology for the overestimated movement. _

_ Tommy peered up at him, mischief and something softer- gratitude? -shining in his sea-blue eyes. “Never took ya for a flower boy. What’s your name?” _

_ Our first encounter _ .

Ranboo looked at the already-wilting flower in his hands, its petals painted an ugly bruise-purple, stained with water and mud. He placed it on the ground, patted some dirt over it.

_ Now there’s no one to pick it up anymore. _

He surveyed his work, not caring if mud dripped onto his armor or onto his hands. 

Flowers dotted Tommy’s house, each one placed carefully and by hand. Ranboo had to turn away to avoid his acidic tears from leaking. His hands shook as he got out his book.

Two simple words. Yet they hold so much meaning.

_ He’s gone. _

He would remember this forever. Forgetting important figures wasn’t very common for his memory loss.

But he had forgotten his parents. How long until Tommy became a foreign whisper, a name that evoked nothing but a blank stare?

How long until Ranboo himself faded out of this world, blending in with the background as everyone else moved on? 

_ That’s all everyone does, isn’t it? Regret, act emotional, then move on. But I’m not one to talk. I could’ve helped.  _

_ I could’ve stopped him. I could’ve- _

Ranboo clenched his fists, anger overtaking his grief.  _ Why didn’t I do anything? Everyone knew how grueling the prison was. Why didn’t I DO anything?! _

_ Why didn’t I- _

_ I was so close- _

_ If I’d only- _

_ I could’ve helped- _

_ I should’ve known- _

All sounds of the rain slowly melted into the background as Ranboo covered his ears, almost trying to physically tune out the cacophonous screeching of his thoughts.

One surfaced out of the din, one that made his blood run cold, kept him up at night. One that split him, tore him apart, limb by limb.

_ He is in control of me. _

  
  


\------------------------------------------

  
  


Numbness is a feeling that starts in the fingers. It travels from your exposed areas, from your toes into the depths of your heart, from your ears into your brain, clouding your mind, eating away at you, second by second, minute by minute.

No matter how hard he screamed, clawed at his head, scratched until blood tainted his shirt, he couldn’t get the numbness out.

It was so cold. So fucking cold.

Maybe he was becoming Tommy. An unstable, rabid version of his empty best friend.

He  _ was _ his best friend.

The tears came daily. So did the nightmares. Sleep never had been easy, never was, but now? It was impossible to ever wish for a shut-eye. He didn't even _want_ to see what he looked like in the mirror.

Tubbo kept himself locked away. What kind of friend was he, if he locked away his closest, most beloved, then forced them to kill themselves?

Maybe he was becoming more like Dream.

He had realized too late. He never wanted to be the president of L’manberg. Of course, he wanted peace.

But from the beginning, he was Tommyinnit’s best mate, righthand man, and most important of all,  _ he  _ was _there_ for Tommy.

One could not function without the other. Or so he thought.

_My fault._

Tubbo squinted in his dimlit quarters. He fumbled for the smooth metal chain, something that was still attached to him, even till this day. They'd have to rip it off his dead body.

He ran a scarred hand over the smooth engravings.

His vision swam, and fat drops obscured the bronze letters, warped the little tick marks behind the translucent covering. 

Outside, thunder boomed.

_ “Tubbo! Tubbo!!” A bright and delight-filled shout turned the brunette’s head, his face morphing into a big grin as he watched Tommy sprint towards him. _

_ “Look at what Philza made us!” _

_ A smooth, cold metal circle was plopped into his hand. Tubbo looked down at the object, and gasped. _

_ “A compass!” He rubbed his thumb over the fresh engravings and looked up at his best friend. Tommy was smiling, softly, at his own compass.  _

_ They were each painted a different color. Red and yellow. A symbol of their long-lasting friendship.  _

_ Tubbo hugged Tommy then, giggling when his best friend stammered out an excuse as to why big men hugged. _

_ “Thank you, Tommy.” _

  
  


Tubbo grasped the compass, tears spilling out of his eyes, uncontrollable. His whole body shook, and in his blurry vision, he could barely make out the simple, yet direct lettering.

_ Your Tommy _ .

Did Tommy hold onto the compass, stare at it, give it a final squeeze as he met his demise? 

_ I hope he hates me. I deserve it.  _ Tubbo thought, hugging his knees close as he curled in on himself, sobs wracking his small frame.

_ I’m horrible, Tommy. _

_ I’m so, so sorry. _

The pained boy finally fell into restful sleep, after being plagued, weeks on end, with nightmares. 

A blond-haired boy, from somewhere up above, gave him a hefty grinned and stretched out his hand.

_ Hey Tubbo! What do you think about making a country with me? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2120 words
> 
> hiya everyone! hope you liked this sad, sad chapter. in light of the recent Dream SMP events, i just want to say that if you are feeling any derealization right now, you are okay, you will be okay <3
> 
> you are strong and we can get through this! remember that the characters are scripted and planned on the dsmp, and do not correlate with the cc's themselves :]
> 
> if you liked this chapter or any before it, feel free to leave kudos! 
> 
> see ya next time, take care!
> 
> edit: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1k+ READS! LOVE YOU ALL <3
> 
> -zz


	6. My Little Duckling - A Puffy Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always the mother and the son. 
> 
> But children always grow up, shaped and molded into various figurines by their environment.
> 
> Some turned out beautiful. Others mangled, faces permanently distorted by the brutality of the world.
> 
> Her little duckling had set sail. What kind of waters would he be journeying in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you don't want spoilers, don't look at the trigger warnings below
> 
> enjoy! :]
> 
> SPOILERS:
> 
> \---------------------  
> tw// blood, angst, graphic depictions of violence, implied character death  
> \---------------------
> 
> !!do not fee, obligated to read if any of these topics trigger you!!

She ruffled his head, sighing, a mixed sound of contentment and weariness from a long day.

A soft smile flitted onto her face. It was fun, watching her only son energetically play with the fluffy white snow.

He was still so young, but already she was beginning to worry. There were no other relatives she knew of; nobody to play with her precious child. How would he learn? She wouldn’t be around here forever

Puffy gazed down at his sleeping form. He looked so peaceful, his small frame curled up against hers, the fireplace crackling and glowing a soft orange haze that spilled out around the house.

Outside the snow was falling peacefully, an immaculate white blanket covering a lone house, a cabin in the outskirts of an abandoned city. Puffy vaguely wonders where all of its inhabitants went. Did they get invaded? Or was some other evil force driving them out of their cozy homes, out into the cold, hugging their children, grievances unspoken?

Puffy grabbed her son’s small, chubby hand and stroked it gently. He was still so ignorant of the world, so blissfully unaware of the pain, conflict, and torment others wrought on each other.

She sighed again, mindlessly combing his dirty blond hair. A selfish part of her wanted to keep him here forever, freeze time and always have it be this way, her and her little duckling, her little son Dream. 

Maybe then she could’ve stopped things.

Dream shifted in his sleep, mumbling incoherent words. Puffy permanently burned the image in her mind, the scene. Everything felt undisturbed, at a standstill, she was just a loving mother, and he was just an innocent young child, yet to know the misgivings of the world.

She forced her face to relax. Slowly, the expression became natural. She felt calmed by the occasional pop of the fire, the flickering flames wavering in a rhythm, almost like a lullaby. She hugged Dream closer.

_I will always stay by his side. No matter how far he strays from me._

  
  


* * *

It was time to finally leave. Puffy took one last look at the humble cabin, its squat, vanilla-colored exterior containing so much warmth and love on the inside. 

Perhaps it’ll be an artifact others find later. 

She shouldered a sleeping Dream- as it was the crack of dawn -and made her way towards a new future. 

The journey wasn’t easy. Puffy never had a concrete plan to begin with. She listened to the silent trills of the birds, their comforting songs echoing throughout the dense forest. The map she gripped in her hand marked various places, some old and already in ruins, others freshly scratched and yet to be disturbed.

It reminded her of her youth. Almost.

The snow crunched underfoot, scaring away any small critters that dared to come close. Her breath puffed out in warm, dissipating clouds, and Puffy paused to survey the serene winterscape in front of her. The evergreen trees seemed to stretch all the way to the sky, and in the instance, she felt a sense of insignificance. 

But loneliness never crossed her mind, not when her son’s warm breath tickled her ear, and the occasional snap of a twig from a rabbit could be heard; the titterings of life all around her. 

Insignificant, small even, but surrounded with signs of brimming life. Each animal had a family to tend to, sacrificed their own hunger to preserve their babies, shielded them from outside dangers. Maybe some needed to learn from the behaviors of our ancestral species. 

So Puffy breathed in the fresh smell of crisp, wintry air, revelling at the beauty. and order of life, and trudged on.

The journey wasn’t easy, but it was fairly short. They stumbled onto a sprawling village, clustered together like penguins from the cold, greying chimney smoke almost a welcoming sign from afar. 

It filled Puffy with hope.

The first person to stake a conversation with her in almost two decades was a demon. No kidding. But the demon was almost a living oxymoron; his friendliness towards the new residents- mother and son -was almost blinding. 

“Aww, he’s still sleeping. What’s your son’s name?” Bad- ironic, I know -cooed, glancing softly at Dream, the boy snoozing quietly on Puffy’s back.

“Dream. The story of the name is- long. And who is this?” Puffy’s eyes crinkled as she leaned down to greet the raven-haired boy hiding behind Bad, his navy-blue eyes shy but curious.

Bad ruffled his son’s hair and chuckled. “Oh that’s just Sapnap. He’s a bit shy, don’t mind him.” Sapnap looked at the sleeping form of Dream and smiled, ever so slightly. 

Puffy was ecstatic. “That’s amazing! Is Sapnap around Dream’s age? My duckling here’s six.”

Bad grinned, and if Puffy didn’t already see his kind personality, she’d assume the man was going to stab her. “Sapnap is five. I’m sure they’ll get along just fine! Let’s go meet the other villagers.”

The demon held onto Sapnap’s hand lightly as they strode into the town. There was something heartwarming about a compassionate demon with a small child.

The marketplace was bustling with activity. People flitted about, each living in their own personal timeline, a main character to drastically different tales. Color was splattered everywhere, in the sparkle of a lapis jewel, the red canopy of an auction house, to the hems of shirts and hats placed delicately on many heads. 

And oh, the smells. Puffy’s stomach churned as she noticed the heavy presence of chocolate and vanilla, aromatically drifting from various bakeries and diners scattered around the market. The sizzle of fresh beef or pork was also prominent, perhaps in preparation for a midday meal or an ornate morning feast. 

Wind chimes clunked together sweetly in the distance, a whisper of a melody carried by the slight breeze. Human conversations could be heard in snippets here and there, everyone on a pressed agenda, some with too much time, others stressed with not enough.

All the senses and sights hit Puffy, and nostalgia bubbled from within her.

It reminded her of a home away from home, nestled in the heavy blankets of memory and conscience. The mental picture long eroded away as it cracked with forgetfulness and amnesia.

But the emotion stayed, and Puffy felt her heart swell with a torrent of it. She welcomed the feelings with open arms and grinned almost youthfully.

They were going to settle in just fine.

* * *

Time passes by fast when you’re with others.

Soap clung to the edges of the sink, hiding away from the rushing stream of water. Puffy profusely wrung the dish in her hands, trying her best to get out the last little speck of dirt off the porcelain surface. 

_Finally_! The dirt was dislodged and Puffy could move on to the next dish. She moved to place the clean dish onto the rack, and looked outside the kitchen window as she heard bright screeches of pure delight.

Sapnap was chasing Dream, his overgrown raven hair tamed by a flowing white bandana, and his best friend, her son, screeching as he avoided the flimsy twig Sapnap was busy waving about in his hand.

Happiness filled their faces, and Puffy laughed a little at the sight. Suddenly, the roles flipped. Dream had grabbed the stick and was busy sprinting after Sapnap, the other boy squeaking in terror.

Puffy strolled towards the opened screen door and shouted a safety warning at her son, earning a cheeky grin and an affirmative shout, although voiced carelessly.

A little duckling exploring the world given to him.

She was just about to head inside when Bad came out, walking calmly with two figures. Puffy hadn’t seen them in the village before- and the town was fairly small, so in the span of three years she had already memorized most of their names.

Dream and Sapnap looked up from their playfight in curiosity, eyes landing on the nervous but calculating boy standing beside the newcomer.

Bad waved at Puffy, and called his son over. 

The three adults introduced themselves, Puffy keeping an extra eye on Dream if her son decided to do something mischievous to the new boy.

“Hi. We just moved here. I’m Sam, and this is my son George.” Sam, who seemed to be half-creeper, motioned to the young boy at Sam’s side.

George seemed a little bit more mature, older than Sapnap or Dream. He cleared his throat. “Hi. I’m George, and I’m 14 years old. Nice to meet you all.” 

Dream and Sapnap shared an evil grin with each other. _Uh oh_ , Puffy thought, but let them continue on with their antics.

Dream puffed out his chest, and spoke in a deep voice. “Hi. I’m Dream, and I’m 11 years old.”

George rolled his eyes and waited for Bad’s son to introduce himself. “I’m Sapnap. I’m ten.”

After the formalities, Dream and Sapnap had launched into a heavy analysis of their game and the adults went to conversing.

Puffy listened politely as Sam described his village. Though she did register what he said, her heart was busy warming up on the fact that Dream had friends surrounding him, a full stomach each night, and games and playfight to wake up to in the morning.

Puffy was beyond thankful. Dream deserved a happy childhood, and he deserved everything.

* * *

Puffy was busying herself in the market, when her teenage son came barreling towards her. She turned, confused at the sudden streak of blond hair she glimsped of.

"Mom!" The accompanying voice sounded strained, almost pressed. Puffy embraced her son tightly. 

"What's wrong, my duckling?"

Dream quickly disentangled himself from her arms, a scowl on his face. "I told you not to call me that!" 

Puffy pushed away the stone-heavy sadness she felt sink into her heart. Dream hardly noticed the change in expression and barreled on.

"This girl wants to go to the dance with me. I don't know what to do!"

That night, as she was fitting her son's suit, borrowing fine, navy material from the seamstress' workshop, she glanced up in the mirror to assess her work.

The boy she saw in the mirror no longer resembled the sleeping toddler in front of the fireplace. His wavy blonde hair was longer, his green eyes shone with maturity- determination, maybe? -and his face was set into a confident smirk.   
  


He had grown up without her realizing. A duckling that had shed its baby feathers. Those wings, once useless and weak, spread eagerly for flight.

"Oh, Mom, why are you crying?"

The adult-like worry was already present in his glimmering eyes. Puffy allowed herself to be held by her only child, and smiled through watery eyes. 

"You're growing up so fast."

She watched from the shadows as her duckling- who had morphed into a beautiful swan -twirled and mingled with his friends.

She said nothing as he went out each morning, making a beeline for George's or Sapnap's house.

Sometimes he didn't come back for days.   
  


But Puffy was in no control of his life anymore. Dream had rid himself of the protective fluff that prevented him from flight; taken off, and never looked back.

And here they were, George, Sapnap and Dream, those who learnt to climb the beanstalk without registering how high they were, and if they were to fall, it would mean a sickening crunch and certain death.

Puffy wished them luck. She had done everything she could to prepare her son to become a strong man, able to stand up for his beliefs and see what was right. This was out of her control now. 

  
  


So why did she think she hadn’t done enough?

* * *

  
Why were there so much _bloodshed_?

She didn't know how Bad and Sam could handle it. Maybe they didn't.

Conflict tore people apart, gaped its wide jaws and swallowed civilizations whole, or shredded them limb to limb until there was nothing but a hollow carcass. 

It was horrifying to see her son witness, let alone _participate._

_It hurt._

* * *

The fireplace crackled ominously this time, and Puffy’s thoughts flickered back to the days when her son was still a child. 

Maybe she didn’t do enough.

Dream hissed in pain as Puffy rubbed away the drops of blood from his already scarred skin, exposed to too much and offering too little resistance to the jabs and cuts he received.

What could she do other than hide her sobs at night and make her eyes dull so worry and concern didn’t shine from them? God forbid she mentioned the restless nights, where every nightmare had contained her son, bloodied, bruised, and _dead_.

Apparently, the only thing she could do was watch as her son slowly slipped away from her.

_I’ll always be by your side. No matter what._

_Even if I have to be the one retrieving your body. Apologizing for your actions._

_Even if I have to sacrifice myself, I’d do it for you._

Because he was her son, her pride and her sorrow.

Her unfinished song, the lyrics washed away in the rain, the melody a distant hum. 

  
  


So she held onto him tightly, through the pain, through the aching.

Even if she couldn’t bear it any longer, she still clung.

* * *

A flower, blue petals frayed from hours of adjusting, was placed near smooth stone, the dirty grey of the clouds casting a shadow on the grave.

_Rest in peace, Captain C Puffy. She will be forever loved and remembered._

  
  


A man, in a bloody and dirtied hoodie, knelt in front of the grave. His once sparkling green eyes bloodshot, he removed the mask as his body began to shake. He was strikingly similar to the sobbing boy who broke his wrist for the first time, his mom wrapping her comforting arms around his, whispering soothing reassurances into his ear, helping him stand up again, again, and again.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mom.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2315 words
> 
> here's to me updating at ungodly hours of the night, huzzah!
> 
> dream smp's been a rollercoaster so far, so here's a little headcanon mother!Puffy angst for ya
> 
> love yall and don't shed too many tears!
> 
> til next time :)  
> \- zz


	7. Glass - Dream SMP Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finds a certain someone waiting for him.
> 
> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// graphic depictions of violence, blood, death, derealization, angst, manipulation, post-traumatic stress disorder, strong language
> 
> !!please do not feel obligated to read this loaded chapter if any of these topics trigger you!!

Something cracked. It might’ve been his jaw, or maybe his mental state. Whatever did shattered the blurriness of his surroundings, bringing everything to an abrupt stop. Even the pain felt muted, as if he himself had detached from his limp body and was slowly pulled into a chilly embrace.

Isn’t there a phrase? Kissed by Death. Or maybe he was choked in Death’s embrace. Either way, he’s ended up here.

Tommy got up, a pounding headache already finding its way into his system. He tried to get a bearing for his surroundings, but there were no  _ surroundings _ to get a bear of. The true color black, pitch-black, seemed to fan out in an endless void around him. He tried to clear his throat, but the sound was barely heard before being swallowed up by the abyss. He looked under him, the ground seemed solid but heck, everything was black, so he could’ve been floating for all he knew.

It felt terrible. He swiveled left and right; or what he presumed was left and right, to catch any signs of the other ghostly inhabitants in this unnerving realm. 

“Tommy,” echoed a deranged, baritone voice. The boy whipped around, looking for the source of the sound. His eyes fell on a man with a red bean, dark brown hair flopping out of it. He seemed to be sitting, rather floating, on nothing. 

Beneath his round glasses were two, tired eyes, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. The edges of his once flowing trench coat were frayed, and his skin was shockingly grey. 

Ironically, Tommy expected Wilbur to greet him more lively.

“Wilbur!” Tommy started towards him, only to be stopped by his brother. Former? The boy didn’t know if familial relations extended between the dead. 

“Tommy. Tommy.” Wilbur repeated his name as if in a trance. “You know, years holed up in this,” he gestured at the blackness around him, “this place of  _ nothingness _ , and it gets to you. It gets to you, yeh?”

Tommy hesitantly took a step back as Wilbur’s voice edged on hysteria. “Listen, Tommy, another thing about being stuck here is that you have a lot of time to  _ think _ . A lot. Of time. And I’ve been thinking, you know, how things have turned out for us.”

Tommy’s mind was whirring. “Years? Wait Wilbur-” 

But his brother barreled on. “And they were shit. They were shit, Tommy! Formed a nation, couldn’t even keep it for A FUCKING YEAR, and it was gone! Blown to smithereens!”

Wilbur let out a horrid laugh. It reminded Tommy of when his brother had burnt his hand making pizza, when they were all together, as a family, and Wilbur had just looked down and laughed. Laughed and laughed at the charred skin, pink, black, and raw. 

“And you know what? L’manberg  _ was _ never meant to be! If we hadn’t done that stupid thing back then, we would’ve never gotten ourselves into this shitty mess!”

Tommy couldn’t believe what Wilbur was proclaiming. Hot, spiky anger thundered in his mind as he spat. “What the  _ fuck _ , Will! L’manberg was your  _ fucking  _ idea, and without it, we wouldn’t even have gone through all of these things! Well, no  _ shit _ , it was blown apart, but what about Tubbo? Niki? Heck, even Jack Manifold! We wouldn’t have overthrew Schlatt and done all this shit! And you can just fucking say it was all for nothing? That  _ none  _ of this meant anything??”

Wilbur simply smiled and shook his head, the gesture holding mixed feelings. “The thing is, Tommy, well yes, I’m glad you met friends along the way and enjoyed yourself. But-”

Tommy almost sputtered in rage. “E-enjoyed myself?! Excuse me??” His blue eyes, once filled with mischief, were glinting with something more serious, dark, humorless. And who could blame the boy? He had been through so much, seen things that shouldn’t have been witnessed by teenagers, and still somehow lived.

Until now.

“I am not some little kid who looks up to you anymore, Wilbur! Don’t you understand?! Do you even understand what  _ happened _ to me?! No, no.” Tommy shook his head ruefully. “You wouldn’t  _ begin  _ to understand how much I’ve gone through. Your experiences  _ pale _ in comparison to mine. So don’t try to fucking treat me like an insolent child. I already know what that feels like. Far too  _ fucking  _ many times. So I don’t need it, especially not from you.”

If Wilbur was taken aback by the outburst, his facial expressions didn’t twitch. Instead, he barely whispered, “Don’t assume. Just because you might’ve gone through shit doesn’t mean you get to berate me of my experiences.”

Tommy shivered, but the colorless, dark void he was trapped in had no temperature; really, it had no nothing. A dull ringing had settled into his eardrums, constantly reminding him of the obsidian walls, the scorching heat radiating off the lava, sickly vermillion red tainting the floors. 

He liked to think the walls cried in mourning, their orchid tears oozing onto the floor, swallowing his body and what remained of his soul.

To Wilbur, he had been stuck in this bottomless pit for over a decade. Already, Tommy could feel himself succumbing to the agony of seeing nothing, directionless, trapped in a deathly dance with Satan. 

The brother he once knew turned to him, eyes blown out in a wide frenzy. “You know, you are too attached to things. You’ve started countless wars, killed many, hurt friends and relatives over the things you desire. Your stupid discs, the “fun” of burning down the King’s house, for fuck’s sake!” Wilbur let out a chuckle, a twisted mockery of Tommy’s past recollections.

“You never learn, do you? You still hold onto a child’s dream, some shit fantasy of a peaceful world where you and Tubbo can escape to. Don’t you see, Tommy? Nothing like that can ever be achieved. You are wrong, and you are just a fucking dumb child. You can’t even get past your selfish desires to see the whole picture!”

He stopped, face right up to Tommy’s ear. “No amount of exile can stuff some fucking sense into you.”

Tommy was frozen, a deer in headlights, his life flashing before his eyes. This time, his jaw wasn’t the only thing that shattered. It felt like an eternity passed when he gasped for a new breath, and tried to calm himself down, but to no avail. 

Wilbur watched in silent coldness as he clutched his hair in his hands, kneeling into the dark, dark abyss. In his mind, a war waged on. An imaginary slammed into the carefully construed pieces he’d scooped up from exile; from death, splintering them into sparkling pieces. Someone tore at his brain, lit his lungs on fire, tied handcuffs around his hands and dangled him up, in a cage. He wasn’t sure if he was screaming, crying, or just trying to get out the nonexistent contents of his stomach.

Memories played almost tauntingly before his eyes; Dream’s creepy, wide mask staring deadly back at him as the man released the arrow, the utter shock and revulsion that came afterwards. Feeling like his brain had liquefied then reformed into a new shape, the energetic determination of fighting for a cause quickly crushed underfoot. 

Ghostbur smiling happily at him, unaware of the harsh days to come. The breakdown near the tree, on a desolate island surrounded by water, a friend who turned on him day and night, tugged at his heartstrings and sewed him into a puppet, a plaything. The rush of a whispered breeze in his hair, looking down at the messy remains of what he was just considering “home”. No fear, just emptiness.

He looked back at Wilbur now, and really saw him for the first time. The hyperaware, calculating stare of his, the way his mouth twisted into a grimace. His dilapidated clothing, something he took pride in always, being clean and tidy.

That Wilbur was no longer there. In Wilbur’s unseeing, brown eyes, Tommy no longer saw the brother he knew. He could see the beginnings of a wheeze, the manic smile behind the glint off a white ceramic mask, and the face that accompanied nightmares.

_ Oh Tommy. You and your attachments. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? _

Tommy ran. He ran without a destination, without any direction, since he didn’t-  _ couldn’t  _ see where he was going. 

He sprinted, until his lungs were set aflame again, until his ghostly body shuddered from fatigue and pain. So much pain.

He couldn’t tell what from anymore.

But he should’ve come to this realization sooner.

  
  
  


There was no longer an older brother Will. He was long murdered by the nightmare he knew of now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1452 words
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 2K READS OML
> 
> I PROMISE ILL PATCH YALLS BROKEN HEARTS W FLUFF NEXT CHAPTER IM SORRY <333
> 
> hope you liked it :] tho its a short one (and if you did, feel free to leave comments and/or kudos!)
> 
> requests are always open :)
> 
> next time it is!  
> \- zz


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